3:02
by smc-27
Summary: He doesn't even ever want her to feel like she needs to cry. It's ambitious. And yet he almost thinks that if anyone could achieve that, it'd be him. That's why it's so hard to leave her. Season 4, rewritten a little. Lucas' POV. Oneshot


**A/N:** This turned out completely differently than I planned it to, but I think it's for the better. Just a little oneshot. I basically rewrote season 4, and it's all in Lucas' POV. Let me know if you enjoy it.

**----**

He's barely let her out of his sight, and she doesn't want to be out of his sight, but they both know it's for the best that they spend a little time apart. She's already dealing with so much, and he's becoming more and more confused the more time he spends around her. It's definitely wrong of him to think it, but her vulnerability right now is making him want her so damn badly that he can hardly stand it.

He wants to save her, and he knows that no matter how hard he tries and how much she tells him he is, he can't heal the part of her that Psycho Derek hurt so badly. The bruises have faded and she's not hiding behind locked doors and angry drawings and Lucas' sweatshirts, but he knows - and maybe _only_ he knows - that she has a long way to go. He hates that she has this other guy, even though he's her real brother, to help her through it. But at the same time, he loves that she has someone. Family. She needs that.

_He_ needs _her_. He keeps almost losing her, and every time it happens he promises to hold her a little closer to him and make sure she doesn't go anywhere.

He can't put all that into words. He decides not to try.

He hates that he can say almost anything to almost anyone, but he can never just tell her how he really feels.

----

He starts keeping a rake in the trunk of his car. He sawed off the handle so it'd fit, but it's in there. He loves that it makes her laugh every time she sees it.

He loves even more what goes unspoken; he'll use that rake if he has to.

----

It's not supposed to be like this. He shouldn't be standing 100 feet away from her, watching her laugh (however half-heartedly) at something her brother says. He shouldn't be faking interest in the conversation his date is trying to have with him, smiling at the appropriate times. He should be with a girl (_the_ girl) who knows when his smile is genuine and when it's not.

And he almost thought he would.

They've been basically inseparable. She's been sleeping at his house, and he's with her all the time, when she's not with Derek, and he likes it that way. It feels right, somehow. It feels more natural than anything he's ever done, other than basketball, to be with her. In whatever ways that means. He's really liked getting to know her again because, let's face it, when he was with Brooke, he was always_ with Brooke_. And Peyton understood that. Lucas loved that she did. He never told her that.

Since they've been spending all their time together - Nathan and Haley have other worries, they thought Brooke hated them both - he's actually started considering (again) the possibility that maybe they should be together. He thinks that possibility was always there. He knows he was certainly always considering it. The only people who've ever told him that they know she's always in the back of his mind are Haley and Skills, and that's only because they've been listening to him talk about the girl basically since he knew what girls were.

He's honestly not sure how he ever lost sight of that. Lost sight of her.

They'd just woken up that morning, and he'd pulled on his clothes while she shouted ridiculous things from the bathroom (she's not a morning person, and he loves how incomprehensible she is until she's had a coffee). She said something about sharing a bed with him that made his heart race, and he wondered if she wanted him to feel that way. He wondered if she ever felt that way about any of the things he's said...

And then Brooke intervened. He thinks it might be for that reason alone that he doesn't want to be with her. She's got bad timing. She always seems to step in at the exact moment he and Peyton are becoming...something. This time he realized it, but he just couldn't say no. And sure, part of him felt like he just needed to know that it was over. He didn't go with her to see if they might have another shot, he went with her to confirm that they didn't.

She'd hate him if he told her that.

He actually felt like groaning when, just a little over an hour later, Peyton asked him to the very same function and he'd had to say no. He hated that he had to do it. He hated that he could never tell Brooke no, and go to Peyton. It was always the other way around. Brooke was making it easy to resent her, as much as he really didn't want to.

So here he is, sitting next to Brooke and trying his hardest to be a good 'date', because it's just not in him to be rude and ignore her for the girl he really wants to talk to.

It'd be a hell of a lot easier if Peyton would quit stealing his attention though. She'll sip her drink, tipping her head back as she does so, and he'll see the lines of her neck, skin he suddenly realizes he really never got to kiss enough. It's a silly, boyish thought born from want and desire and a need for that girl he's never really been able to explain. But it's a thought that's there, and he almost blushes when Haley sings his name and laughs and asks if he's with them.

Not really, he thinks.

He's with someone else entirely, despite not really being _with_ her. And the thought that has him looking at her again is that it has always been that way.

He's staring at her when she glances over at him, and she looks away almost as quickly, her blonde hair moving as she turns back to her brother. It's a girlish action that he loves. It's as though she's embarrassed to have been caught looking, though he was obviously looking too, and it makes him smile, because he feels like it's last year all over again. The two of them at this party, stealing glances and very well aware of all the tension surrounding them. The difference is that this time, with maybe the exception of Haley, no one else knows all that tension is there.

She bites her lip, trying to keep her emotions in check. She always does it. This time when she looks back, she lets their eyes lock and she gives him a genuine smile. It's only for him and he knows it; she only ever uses that little smile with him. It's coy and subtle and girlish, and he adores it. He's lost again in thought, wondering if he's ever told her that. He doesn't think he has. He wants to.

There's a little something in her eye, and he can see it even from across the room, and he thinks it might just be a tear. She's talking to Derek, and he takes a deep breath, and Lucas thinks he needs to know what that conversation is about. Her brother leans down and tries to put his hand on her shoulder, but she holds up her hand and shakes her head just a little bit. Lucas knows that move. If someone tries to comfort her, it'll open the floodgates and she won't stop crying.

He doesn't even ever want her to feel like she needs to cry. It's ambitious. And yet he almost thinks that if anyone could achieve that, it'd be him.

Derek says something and she rolls her eyes, smiling and looking away from him as she lets out a laugh. Lucas thinks that _he_ wants to be the one making her laugh. She laughs differently with him. She laughs with her whole body, from her eyes to her lips to her hips (he's noticed) and right down to her toes. They'll be sitting watching television or reading together, and she'll laugh, and she'll curl her toes a little bit. They're usually painted some dark, moody colour. He's never pointed out that she does it. He's afraid she'll stop, and he loves that little trait of hers.

And every so often, his mind will wander and he'll wonder if her toes ever curl when she's doing anything else; he wonders if he could make her toes curl with something other than a joke.

He very nearly chokes on his water when Brooke places her hand on his thigh. He doesn't know why she's doing it. He thinks she probably doesn't even really want to.

And all he can think is that he doesn't want to be sitting next to her at all. He never should have been.

Because it always should have been Peyton.

And in a lot of ways, it always was.

"Are you having fun?" Brooke asks, and it takes almost everything in him to look at her and not someone else.

"Yeah," he says. He's not really lying. He's watching Peyton. That's always fun.

He thinks he's a bit of a creep for even thinking that. He knows Peyton would call him one and punch his arm and he'd laugh and look away, but they'd both secretly love that he was watching. Or maybe not so secretly. They've never really been all that discreet with one another.

"You think Derek's around for good?" Brooke asks. Lucas looks at her and tries not to scrunch his face.

Of course he's not around for good.

He doesn't know why Brooke is asking about Peyton (because she so obviously is) but he's kind of annoyed by it. She refuses to be friends with her, but she'll ask around and beat around the bush, and Lucas wants to scream at her and tell her that she's being a bitch. Because she is.

As the minutes tick past, he's really starting to wonder what he ever saw in Brooke.

"He's a marine," he says, his voice laced with a little too much of...something. "I mean, he's got a lot of people to report to and stuff," he says, softening his tone. "He's probably got to go back to base soon."

"Oh."

"You know, it might mean something if you talked to Peyton," he says, and he means it. "She's...it's not easy for her right now."

"Apparently," Brooke mutters, looking away from him and taking a sip of her water. He really hates how complacent she's being.

"And I don't just mean being all catty with her about spending time with me," he says. Nathan and Haley, the only other two people at the table, take notice of that comment. Nathan's eyebrows go up, but he's glad Lucas is saying it. The brothers have had conversations similar to this, and Nathan knows they're all on the same page about Brooke's behaviour.

"Lucas," Brooke whispers in maybe almost horror.

"I'm just saying, Brooke. She's been through a lot. She might be able to use her best friend."

"She's got you," Brooke says sadly.

He doesn't know if she means that he's Peyton's best friend, or that she doesn't need anyone else when she's got him. Either way, he thinks Brooke may be right.

They don't say anything else, and then Whitey calls Lucas to the podium after everyone's taken their seats again. He smiles at Peyton from his place, but he knows no one else will notice, and he loves those stolen little moments with her, and he wants more of them.

He and Brooke definitely don't have another shot.

Even if they did, he probably wouldn't want to take it.

----

Derek's gone, and Lucas is really the only one Peyton has. Well, that's not necessarily true. She's got Nathan and Haley, but they're each busy, and it's okay. Or so she says. She has him, she'll say.

She does have him.

They spend a couple hours after the banquet sitting in her newly-redecorated bedroom, talking about their evenings and laughing, and he makes fun of her pajamas like he's never seen her in her pajamas before.

"Shut up!" she cries, swatting his arm, making him cower. "Derek got them for me."

"Standard issue?" he asks teasingly, tugging on the camouflage material at her thigh a little bit.

"I think they're Paul Frank," she says with a laugh. "Whatever. They make me bad ass."

"It's not your pajamas that make you bad ass," he says seriously, and she rolls her eyes.

"Whatever. I love them."

"They're cute," he concedes.

Truthfully, he just loves that little camisole and how those pants make her ass look. He's a guy. He noticed. It's fine.

"Hey, so...you and Brooke...?" she asks softly, toying with the ring on her finger instead of looking at him.

"Yeah," he says. "Over."

"I'm sorry."

"Why?" he asks with a laugh. "It's not your fault."

Their eyes lock, and for the first time, she really actually believes that. He's never said it. In fact, it's been Brooke basically insisting it was all Peyton's fault. And that's a whole other issue, isn't it? Brooke's insecurities, her own problems.

But she's changing the subject. Maybe not. Either way.

"I guess."

"It's not," he insists. "Brooke and I...It was nice while it lasted, but...I just keep thinking that like...I dunno. I can't see a future with her."

"Really?" she asks softly, like she's really surprised to hear it.

"It'd be...I'd have to constantly convince her that I wanted her or something. You know? And...that doesn't feel right to me."

"Right."

"You don't seem interested in this," he notes, smirking because he wonders why.

He wonders if just maybe it's because she doesn't want to hear about him being with anyone else.

He certainly doesn't want to hear about her being with anyone else.

"No," she laughs. "It's okay. I just...I guess it's weird to not really be friends with her anymore."

"I'm sorry about all that," he says sincerely.

"It's not your fault," she says, echoing his statement from earlier.

"I feel like it is."

"I...I was the one who kissed you," she says quietly. It's hard to think about it. It's even harder to know that he thinks that was all Brooke was mad about; that he doesn't know that Peyton loves him.

She thinks that's kind of her own fault though, because she could just tell him. She could just say that she loves him and hold her breath and wait for his answer.

But she's too scared that his answer wouldn't be 'I love you, too,' and she doesn't want to risk it.

"That's not what we broke up over. You know that," he says, like it's obvious and she should know it, because it is and she should.

She nods her head, then lays on her side on her bed, tucking her hands up under her cheek as she does so. He thinks it's adorable that she sleeps like a six-year-old. She bends her knees and sometimes clutches a pillow, and her bed is always a disaster in the morning. She kicks him constantly if they share a bed, and he loves every damn second of it. She's woken up in the middle of the night a few times since the attack, and he'll wrap his arms around her and hold her tightly until she stops shaking, and even then he won't let go and she won't let him.

"I should..."

"Stay," she says quietly, a little childishly, not even opening her eyes. "You should stay."

"I wish I could," he admits. She looks at him then, and he's just reaching over to tuck her hair behind her ear. "I can't, though. We're leaving early tomorrow."

"Right. The game," she says, nodding gently.

"Hey," he says, forcing her to look at him. He sits down on the bed and smiles at her, and he notices her relax a bit. "You'll be fine here, okay? You're safe here."

"I feel safer with you," she almost whispers. He smiles a little wider, and she shakes her head. "Sorry. That isn't a guilt trip."

"I didn't take it as one," he tells her. He always feels guilty leaving her. Especially lately. Especially tonight. "But I have to go."

"Okay. I'll see you at the game. Eat your Wheaties," she chides, and he pulls the covers up over her like he's tucking her in, and her heart flutters in her chest when he laughs and shakes his head.

"I will."

"'Night, Luke."

"Call me if you need anything," he insists seriously from the doorway.

"Just go! God, it'll be morning by the time you get out of here," she says with a laugh, getting all cute and comfortable in her bed. The strap of her camisole falls down off her shoulder, and he has to shove his hands in his pockets to keep from fixing it for her.

And this is why it's so hard to leave her.

He winks, for some reason, before he turns to leave, and as he's walking down the stairs and reaching for his keys to lock the deadbolts on the front door, he thinks that one of these days, he'll get sick of walking away from her and he'll just tell her how he feels.

----

"Stop staring!" she cries in frustration. They're sitting in his bedroom, and she's at his desk sketching while he lays in bed, recuperating after his heart attack.

And yes, he's staring. She's wearing his sweatshirt and a pair of little blue shorts. Her hair is pulled up into a messy ponytail that she might as well not even be wearing, since most of her hair is falling out of the elastic anyway. Her feet are perched atop his desk, and the fingertips on her right hand are covered in black pencil led. She's drawing him.

How in the hell is he supposed to not stare?

"You're staring at _me_," he points out.

"For the sake of my art!" she cries laughingly. "You're just being weird."

"It's not weird! I don't have anything else to stare at."

"Well...get something," she insists.

"You won't let me read, mom won't let me do homework, and I can't leave this bed. It's not like I've got a bunch of options here, Peyt," he reminds her.

She rolls her eyes like she's telling him to suck it up, and he smirks when she isn't paying attention. She's been waiting on him hand and foot, and he and his mom have shared looks when Peyton leaves the room, carrying a tray of dirty dishes from his dinner. Karen thinks it's sweet that Peyton is being so attentive, even though she jokes that it's making her obsolete. Peyton will blush and shrug her shoulder.

Lucas just thinks it's funny that he's spent so much time trying to take care of her, and now he's making her take care of him. It was a stupid thing to do, not taking his medication, but it helped them win the game. No one else may understand that, and even he's not sure what to think of it. On one hand, he doesn't regret it. On the other hand, he realizes how selfish it was. He'll never do it again - his mom, Haley, and Peyton have all made him promise - and he hates the thought of leaving anyone behind or never meeting his nephew.

"What?" Peyton asks, furrowing her brow when she notices he's lost in some deep thought.

"Nothing."

"You're such a liar. What?" she repeats. He smiles. He loves that she knows him so well. That they know each other so well.

"I'm sorry," he says, for what he thinks might be the first time.

"For what?" she asks distractedly, trying to shade something or another on her page.

"You're the one taking care of me now."

"So?" she says, looking over at him. "Someone has to." She looks at him pointedly. "_Apparently_."

This isn't the first time she's made digs like that. He's actually come to find it cute.

He's realizing that he just likes everything she does. Every single thing.

"No. I mean...the last thing you need is to babysit me. I'm supposed to be there for you, not the other way around."

She looks bewildered, shakes her head then drops her sketchpad and pencil on the desk and marches the few steps over to the bed. She glares at him until he moves over a little bit, and she sits down next to him. He's made her mad somehow, and as much as she scares him, it also kind of makes his heart race (something he's supposed to avoid) to have her acting like this.

"We are friends, Lucas," she insists harshly, looking directly at him. "This is what we do."

"Yeah," he says softly. "Friends."

He doesn't want to be her friend, and he hates that he's never had the guts (not really) to tell her so.

He hates even more that his own stupid decision not to take his medication could have made it possible that he'd never get to be with her. He doesn't know if he ever will be. All he knows is that the possibility of being with her someday is better than knowing he never will be.

It's that very same thought that keeps him from explaining how he really feels.

Because what if he says he wants to be with her, and she doesn't want to be with him? Then what?

----

She walks up to him in the hallway, and she's wearing those jeans he loves and those little boots, and her hair is curled, and he notices all that. What he notices more is the little grin on her lips and the way her eyes are shining at him, and if they were anywhere else, he'd think she was coming onto him. Maybe that's all in his head.

Nathan's standing next to Lucas, and he just shakes his head and laughs. He claps Lucas' shoulder and smiles at Peyton, but she doesn't really see him. Lucas looks at her questioningly as she steps toward him, and he has to cup her elbow, she gets so close.

"Let's skip bio," she murmurs into his ear. It's low and seductive, and he wouldn't care what she'd just said, his mind would be on one thing and one thing only after that.

"We've already missed too much," he manages after clearing his throat.

"We're seniors," she says. "Come on. You _know_ you want to."

"And what are we going to do, exactly?" he asks.

"You'll see."

She doesn't say anything more before she turns her back in him and starts walking towards the main doors.

He knows it's probably a bad idea and they'll probably get into trouble. The way her hips swing as she walks, and the sound of her heels on the linoleum, and the way she looks at him over her shoulder, just daring him to follow her, all have him slamming his locker door shut and walking towards her.

Because he's always up for whatever she suggests, and he's always up for just being with her. If she's going to get all sexy and dangerous about it, that's even better.

She tosses him her keys when they step outside, and they walk right past Brooke, who's staring at them like she hates them, but they don't even care. Lucas' heart won't stop racing, and Peyton loves doing wild things every so often, and they don't need anything but her car and each other.

They go to the beach. The _beach_. Great, Lucas thinks. A few hours of Peyton in a bikini will definitely be bad for him. But as he watches her pull her tee shirt over her head and step out of the shorts she'd changed into when they stopped at his place, he notices that her confidence is back. All that life about her that she'd lost after the Psycho Derek situation is back, and Lucas knows that's a good thing.

Yes, it's a good thing, but it only makes him want her more. And with her standing there in only a red bikini, looking at him and telling him to 'strip down'...

He can't wait to be in that cold water.

----

He's never been more angry with Brooke. Never. Not when she lied and said she was pregnant, and not when she made him run the gauntlet to be with her. Not even when she slept with Chris.

He's more angry now that he found out that she slept with Nathan when he and Peyton were supposedly dating. He's always (admittedly more so since senior year started) questioned what kind of best friend she is, but this crosses the line. Or rather, it crossed the line, since it happened so long ago.

He's worried about Nathan and Haley - especially Haley - but he knows they'll talk it out. They're strong and they've been through so much that Lucas knows they'll be fine.

He's more worried about Peyton. That's really nothing new.

They're supposed to go to prom together. He knows her, though, and he knows that she'll use this as an excuse not to go, and he doesn't know how she's feeling, but he doesn't want her to hole up in her bedroom and avoid everyone and everything. It almost worries him when he walks into her bedroom and sees her just laying on her bed in complete silence. She's toying with the corner of a pillow, and she doesn't even smile when she sees him.

"Hi," he says quietly, sitting down at the edge of the bed. She hasn't said a word since they got in her car and he drove them to her place. She insisted she wanted to be alone, and he walked home, worried sick about her.

"Hi."

"Cute pajamas," he says, and she lets out a soft laugh. Those camouflage pants and camisole are always commented upon. "You okay?"

"Don't baby me," she demands. "I'm fine."

He smirks down at her and raises his brow. "Clearly."

"Whatever," she mumbles. She tries to roll away from him, but he places his arm on the other side of her body, effectively stopping her. It's then that he notices tears in her eyes. "Luke. Stop."

"What's going on, Peyton?" he asks delicately. "And I know it's more than...what happened."

"I don't want to talk about it," she says. She's pouting. It's cute, he decides.

"Well I want to hear about it," he tells her. She rolls her eyes, and the tears fall down her cheeks and onto her pillow, leaving little dark red marks there. He reaches over and wipes her face with the back of his index finger. He hopes he's comforting enough to get her to talk to him.

"This whole time, I _missed_ her," she admits. She clenches her teeth for a moment before proceeding, and he knows she's just trying to keep herself from breaking down. "I missed her, because we were best friends and I thought I was the one who messed everything up."

"You didn't," he insists, shaking his head. He has no idea why she keeps saying that.

"She made me think I did," she says. More tears fall, and she wipes them away angrily before he can. "She made me feel like such a...a horrible person, and she did the same thing to me way before. And...Ugh."

"What?" he asks. He doesn't know what makes him do it, but he lifts the hand that was holding her in place, and he rests it gently on her stomach. She takes a deep breath and he feels it beneath his palm, and he moves his thumb back and forth.

"She _slept_ with him. _My_ boyfriend."

"We kind of did the same..."

"It's _not_ the same," she says, interrupting him. "It's so not the same."

It's not the same because at least they loved each other. He knows that.

"Okay," he says, because he feels like he shouldn't argue. She rolls onto her side, and his hand slides over her waist, but he doesn't move it. She sniffles and she's crying harder and his heart is breaking. "What else?" he asks knowingly.

"Do you know how it feels to be Brooke Davis' best friend?"

"Um. Not exactly," he answers. She laughs tearfully, and he smiles.

"She was always...It was always about Brooke. She was more popular, and prettier, and she had more money. She's wore makeup since she was 11, and her clothes were more expensive. I was just..." Her voice trails but she closes her eyes and takes a breath to regain her composure. "I was the girl whose mom died and whose dad was always away. I never had...I wasn't the student body president or cheer captain, and Brooke was so...so beautiful," she continues. Lucas is shaking his head - this is all absurd to him - but she ignores it. "When Nathan wanted me...It was like I finally...I won or something."

"Peyton..."

"I know. It's stupid. But he was the most popular guy, and he probably should have dated Brooke, but he wanted me. And it's like...They've both hurt me so much before, and now..."

"Just don't think about that," Lucas says, like it's just that easy.

"No."

"You can't. You'll drive yourself crazy." She surprises him by placing her hand over his. They hold hands plenty, but this is different for some reason, and he doesn't exactly know why. "And you're not second to anyone," he insists, locking eyes with her. She shakes her head, but he places his finger beneath her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You aren't. Trust me. Okay?"

He wonders if he's said to much, if she'll know what that means. But she just nods her head and lets him wipe her cheeks again. It's moments like these that he's reminded that they're connected somehow. He doesn't know if it's all they've been through - love triangles and fights and shootings and stalker attacks, etc., etc., - or if it's just always been there between them and it would have been there between them even if they'd never met. He might not make sense to anyone else, but it all makes sense to him. He's always felt it. It's the reason that when they were 11, he told Haley that Peyton Sawyer would marry him someday, and it's the reason why at 16, he told Haley that Peyton Sawyer is an angel.

Now she's a lot more than an angel. So much more. He still wants her to marry him, and he still thinks she's an angel. He's in love with her, and the tears are killing him.

"Come on. It's almost noon. I'm sure you have a bunch of stuff to do to get ready for tonight," he says, smiling at her, hoping he's cheered her up.

"I'm not going," she states, leaving no room for discussion.

"You have to."

"Why? Because you want me to?" she asks, far more bitterly than she means to.

"Will that make you do it?" He smirks at her and she rolls her eyes.

"Luke."

"It's our senior prom, Peyton. You'll regret it if you don't go," he tells her. He knows he's right. He wants her to know it too. "And I'm going to look awesome in my tux."

"Well, at least you'll think so," she says, smiling at him. He loves when she jokes with him like this.

"And I know you're going to look gorgeous." He's brushing off her comment, and he doesn't care. She can take all the shots she wants at him. He'll never stop thinking she's beautiful. "Okay?"

"Fine," she grumbles. "I'll put on the $300 dress I bought for the stupid thing. If you're any later than 7:00, I'm staying home and watching HBO."

"I'll be here at 6:50," he says. She laughs and shakes her head at him.

He leans down and kisses her still-tearstained cheek, and when he pulls away, thinking he's just crossed a line, she's got her eyes closed. He thinks maybe they're finally on the same page. He catches sight of that white dress hanging in her closet, and his heart stops for a moment. He and Peyton, her in a white dress and him in a tux. That sounds so damn perfect that he doesn't want to believe it's real.

He decides he's going to tell her at prom. He's going to tell her he's in love with her.

----

He's mad. At a lot of things. At Psycho Derek, at whoever invented prom, at Brooke (still, though he knows he should cut her some slack, especially now).

Mostly, he's mad at himself. If he hadn't just left, the whole thing never would have happened. He's got keys to her place. He should have let himself in when she didn't answer the door. He was respecting her space, but he should have known something was wrong. He hates himself for not realizing it. Every time he sees the bruises on Peyton's face and arms, all he can think about are the ones on her body that he doesn't get to see, and the ones on her emotions and her trust and everything else that he _can't_ see. He hates that he wasn't there to protect her. That's his job, no matter what she tries to tell him.

Ian has been arrested, but it's still not the same. Peyton can't sleep alone, and Lucas won't let her. Brooke is staying at Deb's with Nathan and Haley, and Peyton has basically moved in with Lucas and Karen, and that's just fine with the two older women.

Peyton's laying asleep next to him, and he's happy that she's resting. He can't. He can't stop thinking about losing her, and he can't even count the amount of times it's almost happened. He hates that he hasn't had the nerve to tell her how he feels, when he's constantly being reminded of how uncertain life is. He wants to wake her up right now and tell her everything he hasn't been saying for months, but he'd startle her, and that's what he's been avoiding forever.

Literally forever. Now just in a different way.

He closes his eyes, but it's futile, and so he reaches for her hand and gently wraps his fingers around hers. It's more for him than it is for her.

Because she's here. She's with him, and she's safe, and she'll be okay. He'll hold onto her hand to remind himself of that.

----

She wakes him up from a dead slumber one night, and she's holding a pair of scissors in her hand. It's a little scary, but she looks so cute with her hair in a ponytail and his tee shirt covering her upper half that he can't be frightened. His heart is beating fast for a totally separate reason other than fear.

"What the hell are you doing, crazy girl?" He eyes the shiny blades in her hands and his brow furrows. "I know you've been dark lately, but if you're planning on stabbing me..."

"Shut up. I'm cutting your hair," she informs him.

"Why exactly?" he asks, sitting up a little and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Because first of all, it's not your best look," she says and he squints at her. "And...his hair was..."

He'd never noticed it before. Psycho Derek had long blonde hair too.

Maybe this is the first time he's realizing that he'll do absolutely anything for her.

He throws back the covers dramatically, groaning when he sees that it's after 3:00 a.m., and she laughs as she follows him to the kitchen. She has a chair all set up, with a towel on the floor and another for around his shoulders.

"Do you know what you're doing?" he asks as he sits down. She's made it look like she does, but he's almost certain she has no clue.

"I'm an artist," she says seriously.

"I don't care if you're freaking Michelangelo. Don't butcher my hair," he says as she drapes the towel around him.

"It's not like it could get any worse," she mumbles.

"Peyton."

"Relax," she says, laughing softly, trying not to wake Karen. "I won't make you look bad. And if worse comes to worse, we'll just shave it."

"Not helping," he says.

"Stop moving," she commands.

He's about to say something more when she runs her hands through his hair a few times, and he has to stifle a moan. The girl is trying to kill him, he's decided. She has no idea what she does to him. She's got her fingers moving against his scalp (why is she even massaging his head? he doesn't know, but it feels damn good) and he's well aware that she's standing behind him in only a pair of almost-non-existent shorts and one of his tee shirts. He doesn't care what time it is, all of those things are good things. Add in the fact that she showered before bed and he can smell her coconut and vanilla shampoo or whatever it is that makes her smell so good all the time, and...

Well, he just loves her.

He's so distracted by it all that he doesn't even really notice that she's started cutting until she giggles softly behind him.

"Oh God. What?" he asks, absolutely terrified to hear her answer.

"Nothing," she insists. She rubs his shoulder once in an attempt to reassure him. "Nothing. It's just...I'm awesome at this."

"I hope you aren't lying."

"I'm not. It's good. This is going to be, like...what I always wanted your hair to look like," she admits.

"You've thought about this before?" he asks, very tempted to turn around so he can judge how truthful she's being.

"Sure," she says quietly. She doesn't elaborate, but his mind is racing, and by the time he realizes he should have said something more, it's too late to speak without sounding like a fool.

He doesn't know how long it takes, but it's oddly comfortable, sitting there with her cutting his hair, her not using a mirror or having any clue what she should be doing. It's completely quiet in the house, and they can hear the crickets outside, and see the stars through the kitchen window. After a while, she sets down the comb she's been using, and he takes a moment to look to the floor. It certainly looks like a lot of his hair is missing. She moves to stand in front of him, leaning down a little and running her hands through his hair just above his ears and once over the top of his head. She smiles triumphantly, more to herself than to him, and turns to walk away.

"What are you...?"

"Product," she whispers loudly, which is pointless and makes him shake his head. Why she's putting product in his hair in the middle of the night, he has no clue, but he's completely at her mercy.

When she returns, she's got a jar of something or another, and she rubs a bit of the gooey substance between her palms before brushing it into his hair with her fingers. She pays special attention to a couple spots, then smiles again and bites her lip, just like she always does when she finishes a painting or a sketch.

"Want to see it?" she asks excitedly.

"I don't know. Do I?" he inquires.

"Hang on." She pulls the towel from around his shoulders and brushes his neck with her hand, trying to clean him off. "Take off your shirt."

"What?" he asks in surprise.

"Just take off your shirt!"

"Peyton..."

"Lucas, we sleep in the same bed," she says, reminding him that he really has nothing to hide. "Just take the damn shirt off."

He does as he's told, grabbing the back collar of his shirt and pulling it up over his head in that way he knows she loves. She bites her lip again when she sees his bare torso, and he wants to smile. He catches her looking at him every once in a while, but he's very aware that this is different. It's dark, and they're basically alone, and he's shirtless, and she's just done something incredibly intimate (at least in his opinion). She looks maybe better than he's ever seen her look, despite the purple and yellow marks he can still see on her skin.

She's his girl, even if she doesn't realize it yet.

She starts pushing him down the hall towards the bathroom so he can look in the mirror, and he's a little scared. He knows, however, that she wouldn't be so excited if she hadn't done a great job. He still can't believe he let her cut his hair at all. He knows he wouldn't let anyone else do it.

"Whoa," he says, looking at himself in the mirror after she's flicked the light on. "That's...You did this?"

She laughs softly and stands behind him, playing with a few pieces of his hair before resting her hands on his shoulders.

It's perfect for him. Just long enough to style messily, and short enough that it's easy to tame. If he's being honest, it's probably the best haircut he's ever had, and that isn't even taking into account that Peyton's the one who gave it to him.

Her hands are warm on his skin, and when their eyes lock in the mirror, she blushes, but she doesn't move. She's almost pressed up against him, and he has no clue what all this means. If it even means anything

"Thank you," she almost whispers.

"For what? You're the one who made me look like this," he says, and she laughs and shakes her head.

"No. For...everything." He wonders if she knows what weight that word still carries for him in regards to their relationship. "For letting me do this, and for letting me stay here, and..." She rests her chin on his shoulder, her cheek pressing up against his. "You always take care of me."

He smiles and takes a deep breath and rests his hands on the counter in front of them to steady himself.

"It's my favourite thing to do," he says honestly, and she blushes again and tries to look away. Her hands slide down his arms, and she lets go just before his wrists.

"Come on. Let's go to bed," she says quietly.

He can only nod. He feels like this is their moment, and she either knows that and is walking away, or she knows that and wants him to stop her from walking away. They head back to the bedroom, and he doesn't bother with another shirt before they go to their separate sides of the bed. He loves that they have sides of the bed. He loves that she says things like l_et's go to bed_, and that she's just cut his hair, and that she wants him to take care of her, and that she thinks she has to thank him for it.

All the time he's wasted is driving him crazy, and if he didn't think it'd scare her, he'd march right over to her and kiss her before she knew what was happening. Instead, he steps lightly around the bed, walking slowly as she looks at him in confusion. She inhales sharply when he rests his hands on her hips, because the pieces are coming together just like they both want them to.

"Peyton," he whispers, shaking his head and looking at her like he can't believe she's even standing there with him.

"I know," she mouths. Her throat gets tight and her eyes start to shine a little, like the release of this finally happening is going to come out in tears that he'll taste when he kisses her.

"I..."

Her hand comes up to rest on his chest while the other lands on his bicep. "Kiss me before you say it," she requests.

She knows what he's going to say. She wants him to say it. He has to smile. This feels like exactly how it should be. Her and him and darkness and finally getting it together after so much time spent apart or sort of together or not together at all or confused about what they wanted. They just want each other. That's it.

He presses his lips to hers, mindful of the cut that's still healing, and she lets out a sound from her throat that's almost a whimper. He pulls away, but she presses her lips to his immediately, before he can say anything, and the way she's touching him is meant to encourage him to hold her a little tighter.

He lays her down on his bed gently, and he's resting atop her and gently pushing up the fabric of her shirt when he realizes that he hasn't said it yet. She smiles when he pulls away and reaches up to caress her cheek and toy with her hair a little bit.

"I love you." She says it before he does, and he wonders how long she's been holding it in.

He kisses her gently, letting a little more of his weight fall on her, and she lets out a breath that might be anticipation of his words and where their relationship is definitely heading.

"I love you," he says, almost in awe that he's finally able to say it. "God, I love you so much, Peyton."

----

They skip school the next day. Well, the next few days. The rest of the group has taken off to Texas to 'rescue' Mouth, but Peyton didn't feel like traveling dark expanses of back country roads to her stalker's home state, and Lucas wasn't about to leave her behind.

He's also okay with them being left alone for a few days before everyone finds out they're together, and not having to share her with anyone. Maybe it's a little selfish, but she's finally his girlfriend, and he'll do whatever he can to keep it that way. Apparently, all it takes is him bringing her coffee and Cinnamon Toast Crunch in bed and keeping her warm when she gets cold. He's sure it takes more than that, but he'll wait for further instruction, whenever that might be.

He's not going anywhere. She smiles and kisses him when he tells her so.

He thinks that when Haley comes back to town, he'll tell her that Peyton Sawyer is his. Of all the things he's ever called her, that's probably the only one he ever honestly knew to be true.

_**-Fin- **_


End file.
